


Would You Like a Challenge?

by Autumn_Llleaves



Series: The Cloak of Snow [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Belligerent Sexual Tension, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Side Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 10:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13972899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumn_Llleaves/pseuds/Autumn_Llleaves
Summary: Another companion piece for “The Cloak of Snow”. Chapter 22 from the points of view of Addam and Dacey.Ser Addam is lonely without a woman, sleeping with camp followers is against his principles, and trying his luck with the Northern warrior maiden wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe.





	Would You Like a Challenge?

Addam Marbrand stretched his arms as he got off his horse. When would they finally reach the Wall, damn it? That was the most boring part of campaigns: riding to the actual battlefield. Riding and riding and riding. He hadn’t even properly unsheathed his sword in weeks!

And it was so frightfully cold. He had three scarves (favors from two serving girls from Harrenhal and that lovely baker’s widow from Fairmarket) and a warm fur cape, and he was still freezing.

_I suppose I’ll get used to it. Someday._

Speaking of which… he wasn’t looking forward to spending another night alone.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much of a choice. There were very few camp followers, and all of them desperate (read: old or ugly) – most women were frightened of the Walkers to death. Today, the army had stopped in the midst of a field, which meant not even a chance of finding some nice village girl or a servant from a castle.

He considered choosing a camp follower after all. Then he decided against it. It wasn’t even their age or looks that was the problem (most of them were only old by brothel standards, actually being the same age as him, and as for their ugliness, he could overlook it, he often took pity on plain women). It was simply his one firm principle: Addam never took a woman who was only doing her work, let alone forcing himself on anyone. He liked women a lot, but he liked them coming to him out of desire and not for money.

He wandered towards the tents of the Northerners.

“Olyvar! Have you fed the horses?”

“Of course, Dacey, an hour ago!”

Addam turned with a start at the sound of a female voice. He had completely forgotten that these foolhardy Northmen allowed women to fight side by side with them.

Dacey Mormont was standing between the tents, practicing movements with her sword against a small tree. He hadn’t paid much attention to Robb Stark’s guardsmen before, but he began to think it had been a mistake. The girl was as tall as him, and more graceful with that sword than many other ladies were in a dance. She had dark flowing hair that she wore loose even when in her armor. Addam looked forward to checking if it was as silky to the touch as it looked.

“Lady Mormont,” he said softly. Dacey looked at him in some surprise: she had been so engrossed in her exercise she hadn’t even felt him watching her. Her eyes were grey, he noticed, a light shade, like a winter sea.

“Ser Marbrand. Do you want to see the king?”

The king? Oh, of course. The King in the North.

“No, not at all,” he smiled. “I was just walking around, my lady.”

She slashed off a tree branch. Addam noted to himself that some women looked very beautiful in armor. He never thought it was possible.

“Would you like to keep me company on my stroll, Lady Mormont?” he asked. “You must be quite lonesome by yourself on this dreary night.”

Most women gave in after that, and these were the most stubborn ones. Usually Addam’s problem was not in seducing a girl but in gently explaining to dozens of other girls that he couldn’t very well bed _all_ of them.

But Dacey gave him a cold look:

“No, Ser Marbrand, I’m not.”

“Oh, come now, Lady Mormont. A girl like you mustn’t be content with only a _steel_ sword by your side.”

“I am content,” she snapped. “I’m better with my sword than you are with yours.”

“How can you be so sure, my dear lady?” he raised an eyebrow. “We’ve never met on the battlefield… or elsewhere, before this campaign.”

“We Northerners smashed your hosts in every single battle, that’s proof enough for me.”

Well, she was skilled with her words, that was certain. Her face was calm and stern, like that of an ice statue, and there was still not a glimmer of interest in her eyes.

Had she perhaps been Robb Stark’s lover? The boy had to marry, and, knowing him, he’d now have stopped all contact with other women. (Addam was glad _he_ wasn’t such an important figure and could put marriage off: he believed as well that a man who gave vows had a duty to keep them, and wedding vows were no exception).

“Is anything troubling you, my lady?” he asked with genuine pity. That’s why he never took long-time lovers himself and took care to part on good terms with every girl he bedded: love was a wicked and treacherous and very hurtful thing.

“Nothing that should trouble you, ser.”

“Oh, please, Lady Mormont. We are allies.”

She had stopped swinging the sword at the tree, so he approached her and gently took her hand. She pulled it away:

“Mind your manners, ser.”

“My manners rouse me to help a maid in distress.”

“In distress!” she spat. “I’m not in distress! Keep away!”

Now he was absolutely certain something _was_ clawing at her heart.

“Well, to be completely frank, my lady, your enchanting eyes make it quite impossible for me to stay away from you,” Addam lowered his voice to a whisper, but also he did take a step back – Dacey’s resistance made him even more determined than usual _not_ to use any force.

“Enchanting eyes! Pah!” she huffed, but he was pleased to see the faint blush that had crept up her cheeks.

“Oh yes, they are,” he whispered and tried to edge closer – only for her to jump away and draw her sword:

“Don’t come near me, you Western dog!”

“I’m a Marbrand, thankfully, not a Clegane,” Addam said indignantly. “‘Western tree’ would be more correct, you sweet bear cub.”

Dacey’s jaw dropped. He grasped her hands and leaned over to kiss her, but she pulled free and glared at him.

 

Dacey hadn’t planned for that at all. She knew that the red-haired Lannister henchman was a first-sort womanizer – he never missed a chance for a fling with a girl, and he had a grand collection of favors from his conquests. But somehow she never thought he’d make a pass on _her_. 

“You’d better search for someone else to trick,” she said.

“Trick? Oh, you offend me, sweet lady.”

“Well, if you’re offended, maybe now you’ll get lost?” Dacey suggested. Ser Marbrand laughed:

“If you don’t like having me around, _you_ leave.”

“You’re blocking my way,” she pointed. To her utter astonishment, he stepped away with a bow:

“Oh, I’m sorry. I mean it, my lady – if you’re so repulsed, go away, and I won’t trouble you anymore.”

“I want to stay here, I’m practicing.”

“Perhaps you could practice with me instead of _that_ tree? Although it might be too difficult for you.”

She was furious. The conceit of this man!

“Too difficult, you say? I’ll have you down in the mud in no time!”

“I’m a friend of Jaime Lannister _and_ I’ve practiced with him since we were both kids,” Ser Marbrand said. “I’m not that easy to defeat, my dear.”

“And I’m not that easy to win over,” she retorted. He merely chuckled, and suddenly his eyes lit up:

“If it comes to this… Would you like a challenge? A sword fight with me. If I win, you’ll give me a kiss.”

“No!” Dacey pushed him away and angrily walked to her tent.

Ser Marbrand didn’t follow her.

Once in the tent, she tried to sleep. She tried – and failed, not because the bed was coarse, no, she was perfectly used to that. Ever since the news of the Walkers had spread, she had been growing more and more anxious for her mother and sisters. They lived so close to the Wall… What if the Walkers attacked them before King Robb’s army along with her got there? And if not, what if they were raided by these ironborn barbarians? The brutes had the audacity to capture the little princes, they wouldn’t shy away from Bear Island at all…

During every stop, Dacey practiced with her sword to occupy herself with something, lest her worries drove her mad. Even then she had to drink some gulps of ale to ensure she got some sleep.

Perhaps a training fight with that red-haired lecher would do her good…

She got up from the bed and put her armor back on.

It wasn’t too hard to find Ser Marbrand – he was still walking around the camp, and his distinctive dark red hair could be seen from afar.

“My dear lady!” he beamed. “Do I sense a change of heart?”

“Don’t even hope for that, ser. I only want the fight.”

“Well, that’s still an improvement. Even though I’ll surely beat you.”

They were now standing in the middle of the camp, and their argument started to attract attention. Dacey saw the Kingslayer looking at them with interest, and King Robb’s squire was also watching.

“You won’t. You won’t have me yielding in any sense,” she stressed the last part.

“Oh, let’s see who yields first, my lady. The stakes are the same – you get beaten, I get a kiss.”

“Fine!” Dacey said. “It will never happen.”

“Well, then, name your wish. What will you want from me if I’m defeated?”

Dacey thought. She wanted nothing from these Westermen, she only tolerated them because of the truce. But the stakes would be unfair…

“Five flagons of ale,” she said finally.

At their side, the Kingslayer whistled. She turned to give him an irritated look, but he didn’t seem to notice it.

“Agreed,” Ser Marbrand said. The crowd around them (it was quite large by now) cheered loudly, and Dacey drew her sword. With a clink, his blade crossed with hers.

The man was an incredible swordsman, she had to admit. He struck and dodged with amazing precision, seemed to predict her tactics twenty moves ahead, and she had a good deal of trouble keeping up. He wasn’t disappointed, though.

“You are wonderful, my lady,” he breathed, as their swords locked once again. “Stature of a cypress and quickness of a mountain river…”

Was he truly praising her or trying to distract her? Whatever it was, Dacey was ashamed that, even in the heat of the fight, her cheeks grew warm and ticklish.

She faintly heard the Northmen from the crowd cheering for her. It gave her new strength.

The swords were clashing, but Ser Marbrand wasn’t looking discouraged or tired at all. Had she been too reckless when she made the bet? Well, the kiss didn’t worry her so much, it was just one kiss, after all, but what a shame it would be for her to get defeated…

She tried to dodge his strike – and, with a rush of panic, she felt the ground slipping under her feet.

Ser Marbrand’s face broke into a smug grin as she lost her balance. _The bastard! I’ll wipe that smirk off your face!_ She wanted to slap him, but ended up punching him in the chest – judging by his startled look, he hadn’t expected that. Before Dacey knew, she fell on the muddy ground, and her opponent, losing his balance in turn, landed onto her.

“A draw!” the Kingslayer yelled.

“That was quite some fight, my lady, thank you,” Ser Marbrand whispered. His face was so close to hers that their noses touched.

“At least it was hard enough for you.”

“It’s still hard,” he smiled.

“You pervert!” she gasped as she got his meaning.

“Only stating the obvious.”

As both of them were armored only lightly, she couldn’t help noticing his lean and muscular arms (he supported himself on his elbows, to her surprise, and he wasn’t trying to grope her or even get that kiss of his). His face was weatherbeaten but with fine features, and… Dacey caught herself before such thoughts could go any further.

“Both will pay!” the insufferable Kingslayer announced, and she was outraged.

“Well, darling, you heard our judge,” Ser Marbrand said, inching even closer. She slapped him:

“He’s not a judge! He’s the Kingslayer who favors his friends!”

“Oh, but you were the first to fall,” he pointed out, not in the least discouraged.

She managed to roll away and push him in the chest. He laughed and lightly punched her back.

“Come on, just one kiss, and five full flagons of ale from me.”

“Never! It was a draw, neither of us won!” she tried to pull her arm away as he caught it.

Even as they wrestled on the ground, Dacey realized that with every minute it was looking less like a fight and more like… well, foreplay. She understood that Ser Marbrand wasn’t using even a quarter of his real strength (neither was she) and that had she wanted, she could have stood up and left.

_I can’t lose my head… we have a war to fight… and he’s a Lannister mook…_

 

Addam was ready for another long round of fighting, when suddenly, her hand stopping in mid-punch, Dacey said:

“Well! Just to get it over with!”

Taking a deep breath, she leaned closer, and her lips _finally_ touched his. 

Her mouth wasn’t as soft as that of a southern lady, but it moved over his with a clumsy tenderness that was really quite endearing. Addam traced her bottom lip with his tongue, feeling a thin but harsh scab of a scar, and for a brief moment Dacey opened her mouth with a small sigh. However, before he could deepen the kiss any further, she abruptly pulled away, scowling and blushing like a ripe apple. 

“Your turn now, Addam,” Jaime called to him. 

As she seemed to recall that there were witnesses, Dacey’s cheeks became even redder, but she didn’t look too furious, to his relief. Quarreling with women was something Addam avoided at all costs… even if said women could fight with swords as well as himself. 

He went to his tent and fetched the flagons. As he returned, Dacey was already up, trying to clean off the mud, at least partly. 

“Why only three flagons of ale?” she demanded.

“Because it wasn’t a kiss,” he winked. “It was three fifths of a kiss.”

“Fat chance,” she scoffed, reddening again. 

Addam was entranced. This was happening for the first time in his life and excited him to no end. Dacey Mormont, he felt, was an extraordinary woman. 

“Dacey,” he said, and she gave a start as he called her by name, “if you’re this indomitable on the battlefield, I won’t be surprised if you slaughter every single one of the Walkers by yourself!”

Dacey stared at him and suddenly smiled:

“Oh, you’ve figured out what sort of compliments I want, congratulations. After the ‘enchanting eyes’ and ‘stature of a cypress’ this is something.”

“I was just thinking you’re not like the usual women,” he said.

“I bet you say it to every girl you meet,” she replied. 

Their audience had thankfully lost interest by the time (well, Jaime probably hadn’t, but he was tactful enough to leave). 

“Well,” he stepped closer and took her by the elbow, “is there any chance you’ll want another training fight?”

“Right now?”

“Why not?”

“I’m not a juggling fool to amuse a crowd again.”

“Oh, neither am I,” he whispered into her ear, putting his free arm around her waist. “But we can go to my tent.”

“No, I won’t go there!” she slipped from his embrace. “Goodnight, Ser Marbrand.”

“Addam,” he corrected her. “Goodnight.”

Her tall lithe figure disappeared in the maze of the tents, and Addam had no choice but to go to bed. Nevertheless, he wasn’t so sad about sleeping there alone anymore. A challenge was what excited him most, and the heiress to Bear Island was definitely a challenge.


End file.
